Max Payne: Haunted
by TMoe97
Summary: Max Payne is a bodyguard for hire, mostly for the higher paying socialites of New York City, until he gets a strange email from another bodyguard, Mike Schmidt. Haunted animatronics and eerie noises, doesn't sound like an actual case to pick up. But when evidence confirms Schmidt's "delusions", Max investigates further, and he doesn't like what he finds.


Max Payne: Haunted

If I ever wanted to die, it sure wouldn't be like this. It's as black as the devil's heart, which is ironic because after what I've seen I'm sure hell has frozen over by this point. Something warm and wet runs down my face into my gasping mouth, blood. How did I get to this point? The one time I wish I could remember something, and my mind draws up blanks like a procrastinating college student.

Then, I hear it, creaking, echoing closer to me. I want to move, but I can't, my legs refuse; and the echoing grows louder, ringing in my head to the point of cracking my head open. Then, silence. For a while it is deafening, anyone else would believe the noise was gone for good, too bad I'm not like anyone else.

A small click, and all I can see is white, blinding me even more than when I was laying in my own blood in the dark. Once the light peels away from my eyes, I open them to my surroundings, and I wish I was back in the dark.

\- Two days ago -

The alarm blares like sirens in my head as I roll over in a half-drunken stupor to shut the damn thing off. Opening my eyes, I remember where the latest drunken raid took me, and not for the first time do I tell myself that I need to quit. At one time this may have been a decent place, if vomit-colored wallpaper is your style. But everything is trashed, I don't even think the lights work. Even the bed I slept in smells like piss, whether it is my own or the previous residents is anybody's guess. I then decide against my better judgement to get out of this bed and shamble over to the barely-functioning refrigerator in the kitchen; hopefully I left something over from last night.

Opening it, I spy only a single beer occupying the space, right above a dead cockroach that makes me question if I'm in an actual motel or not. Taking a couple swigs from the brown dishwater that reasonable people unlike myself called beer, I went to take a shower. Running water was the only thing that surprised me this morning, making me wonder why that's the only bill this place payed for. Not for the last time, I see my wife, and newly born daughter; and then I watch the men hopped up on Valkyr redecorate my home in their blood. Michelle, Rose.

A couple hours later, and one more empty bottle, I'm dressed in my usual fashion, and looking at the laptop screen in front of me. Some guy, says he's a security guard, needs my help. Funny, a bodyguard for a bodyguard, sounds ironic. Normally I would deny this guy faster than any of his past romances, but his wording was odd.

Dear Mr. Payne,

I hear you're for hire, normally you work for the higher class, but I'm willing to pay as much as necessary if you are willing to help me. Something is wrong here, I was hired for a simple security job but shit goes deeper than that. I thought I was going crazy, hearing laughing everywhere, but it all comes from one source, so I'm not just hearing it. Thing is, it's the one place I'm not allowed to go, some king of storage closet. And then there are these... animatronics, I think they are after me. Please, you have to believe me Mr. Payne, these things aren't natural. Can't say any more, I believe the company is monitoring this, just consider my offer.

Mike Schmidt

I wanted to believe this man was just crazy, some strange man hopped up on drugs believing his visions were coming for him. Then I saw the company he worked for, Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, a company whose chain is mostly located in the New York area. This franchise had a long, dark history, so at least we had that much in common. News articles circulating mostly around kidnapping, murder, and various campfire ghost stories. After some research, I came across various unprinted news documents, and I saw some curious headlines. Missing children, bleeding animatronics, conspiracy theories, the list went on. Something like this couldn't be covered up, stories like these could destroy a company like an atomic bomb. The truth then hit me like a bat to the face, somehow the newspaper managed to be bought out of selling these copies publicly, having them instead dumped into the dark corners of the web, never to be seen. Reluctantly I emailed back a reply, a where and when, and an immediate reply came along, and a guarantee of 100k for my troubles. Not exactly retirement money, but I have nothing else on my schedule.

Shutting down the laptop, I packed it in a duffel bag with my other clothes and headed out. I'm not sure what to expect, a sane man hearing voices, or another druggie wanting my head. Either way, I'm definitely not sober enough to be thinking rationally about accepting to help someone over hallucinations and creepy noises.


End file.
